


palm of your hand

by unorgaynized



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: AU, F/M, I tried my best, Like major AU, Not Beta Read, asoiaf rarepair week, mentions of catelyn tully
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 03:16:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17993804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unorgaynized/pseuds/unorgaynized
Summary: With Dornish inheritance as the norm in the Seven Kingdoms, Cersei is her father's heir-- especially once Jaime's joined the Kingsguard. At the Tourney of Harrenhal, Cersei picked her consort and now with war rising on the horizon, it's time for their wedding.





	palm of your hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheEagleGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEagleGirl/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ARI! I hope it was great and you loved it

Eddard Stark had the particular distinction of being the dullest man Cersei has ever met, and he barely had the excuse of beauty to make up for it.

As Tywin Lannister’s heir, it was Cersei's prerogative to choose a man who is not heir to his own corner of the Seven Kingdoms, and her choices were regrettably dull. Catelyn Tully, wet fish that she was, had somehow snapped up Prince Oberyn as a consort (though to hear her father’s opinion, it was a certain insult as Prince Oberyn’s mother had once wanted Oberyn to be Cersei’s). She wished the fish well of him— he had bastard daughters in every kingdom, it was said.

She knew the fish girl well enough— the Riverlands bordered the Westerlands and the ruling lords had put their daughters around each other enough so they might have grown to be allies. A smirk spread across Cersei’s face as she remembered the other girl’s flushes and gasps. Oberyn would do well with her, but still she envied Catelyn for the luck of a handsome husband.

Cersei had been kept for Rhaegar, but then he’d married the Dornish bitch, and Jaime joined the Kingsguard, and all the second sons were dreadfully disinteresting. Mace Tyrell was like to grow to fat, her father said, no matter how pretty he might look now. Cersei would not abide a fat husband, now or in the future. Stannis Baratheon would have been the worst she’d feared, but not this stranger from the North with the . . .  _honor_. A notion dreadfully Arryn of him, but Cersei appreciated that his family had attempted to civilize him before finding him to match for a consort. The Tullys had had their eye on him for Catelyn, truly, and Cersei had never wanted Catelyn to have something before she could. She’d announced her choice of husband at the tourney of Harrenhal before Rhaegar had crowned the Stark girl.

It had been beautiful, her father’s rage. There was little he could do, save for making Tyrion his heir, but no Westerland house would back a younger dwarf son over Tywin Lannister’s oldest child. So he’d stewed and the rebellion had come, and Cersei admittedly had never thought quite so far ahead, nor had she thought her father would honor the betrothal. A repayment for Aerys’s slights, she supposed. Though now she was, a maiden bedded but not yet wed, coming to Eddard Stark’s bed to announce Tywin Lannister picking the winning side.

They had said the words, she and Eddard Stark. All that was left was the bedding and Cersei doubted that this cold wolf would know she’d given her maidenhead to Jaime rather than a saddle. She’d play the blushing maiden well enough to please her father, and then she’d rule her husband’s bed. Stark sat before her now with his head bowed, grey eyes steady as he finished unbuttoning his shift. _He is not so handsome as his brother_ , Cersei thought cruelly, but Tyrion was not as handsome as Jaime and he would like as not be talented with his tongue.

“Well,” Cersei said, turning around once, twice before settling down besides him. “You have given the North for me, so I think it well that the Westerlands rewards you for your service. Are there any boons that you would ask for?”

“I had pledged my troth to you,” Stark said at last. “It was. . .only honor, Lady Cersei.” He looked at her and his cheeks flushed red. He averted his eyes quickly after that.

“Only honor?” It was cruel of her, mayhaps, but Cersei was known as the golden beauty of the West, proof that Tywin Lannister made wealth. For her husband to turn away was an insult. No, she wouldn’t have it. “Look at me, my lord. Was it only _honor_ that made you turn from your home?” Was it Tywin Lannister’s promises of swords that had Eddard decide to leave the North to his brother?

Stark was still red. “You are...you are fair indeed, my lady. I would not. . .”

Cersei laughed. This was the foster brother and best friend of Robert Baratheon the whoremonger, and he could barely look at her. “Well, honor indeed. Still, with honor, we must still make an heir. I would not have the West without one.”

She leaned in, bending at an awkward angle and pressed her lips to his mouth. His mouth was more chapped than Jaime’s, rougher than Catelyn’s, and his beginnings of a beard scratched, but Cersei was pleasantly surprised when his mouth opened up and he responded well. It was far more assertive than she’d expecting this shy lordling to be, and while it seemed unpracticed, it was certainly more skillful than she’d assumed.

His hands were calloused, but gentler than she expected along her face, his thumbs stroking gently. He was soft with her, and Cersei had the sudden thought that if she let him lead this, he would think that he could control the bedchamber. No, that wouldn’t do. Not at all. She was a lioness of the Rock, and he a wolf of the frozen North. Lions did not flee from wolves. Lions could eat wolves, if they wanted. He was the prey and she the predator.

Cersei kissed back harder, slipping her tongue inside as she settled down, straddling him. He stirred to life against her thigh, a sudden moan of surprise escaping him. He was still in his britches, and Cersei found that sudden reminder distressing. Why was it that the man was allowed to wear clothes to his true bedding, when Cersei’s shift had been torn apart by hungry hands?

“Off,” she broke away in a heavy gasp, surprised to find that she wanted it. Stark hurried to obey, the pants falling quickly. Cersei observed him. Different than Jaime’s certainly, thicker, and the hair looked coarser. She remembered what her mother and septas had told her, about a man who listened in the bedchamber listening well in his role as a consort. She pushed a flat hand against his chest, and Stark let himself fall back on the great bed. Cersei leaned down again, hair swinging forward in a golden curtain.

“My lady,” Stark said again, something like worship in his eyes. Cersei scorned that suddenly-- he would finish quickly inside her then, all too soon for any pleasure. Jaime would never, and then-- His hands settled on her hips, trailing down and raising shivers on her flesh. He seemed almost shy. “May I?”

She gave an impatient nod. His hand cupped her curls, tugging lightly. Cersei let out a hiss, more out of surprised pleasure than anything else. The palm moved further down, lightly pressing against her, and Eddard rolled a finger around her, agonizingly slow and finally slipped into her slickness. The gasp that left her lips was a surprise. No, it was not quite like Jaime, Jaime knew what she liked, his fingers were more slender and longer. The difference was interesting, and as she was still pondering it, another finger had slipped inside and Eddard’s mouth was on her breast.

Another ragged gasp tore from her throat as Eddard started moving his fingers, pressing and twisting, his thumb brushing against her. He was better at this than she had expected. Had his dead brother taught him this, had Baratheon? Cersei found herself suddenly wanting to know which whore he had practiced this on, because it was certainly working, curls of pleasure making her curl her toes and striking at her belly, stoking of a flame in the lioness within. “Enough,” her voice was lower, rougher as she found herself matching his movements.

“Enough of this, I want more--” But in this regard he did not listen to her. Stark lifted his mouth off her breast and she nearly whimpered at the loss of warm heat. She was ready to slap or kiss him, she didn’t know which. How dare Stark not bow to her, how dare he--

He slipped down off the bed, kneeling before her, and before Cersei could register what was happening he was pressing kisses to her inner thighs, working his way up. His hands were settled on her hips, one hand cool-hot with the feeling of her. A sudden lick sent her knees to trembling. “Eddard,” she murmured, holding his hair. She was in charge, the lion held the wolf by the fur, the conqueror praised by her conquest. He responded something against her, tongue flattening and pointing, stroking and alternating until Cersei could almost not remember his face. Surely she ought to know it more, it was against her most hidden parts, but try as she might, she could not fully conjure it in her mind. Her hips jolted forward again, desperate for more, desperate for him, this half-stranger with the indistinguishable face. “I am about to--”

He pulled away, and she found herself almost mewling at the lack. She commanded her knees to stop trembling, and by the time she controlled that, Eddard was back on his feet, twisted around so that he was nearly leaning Cersei backwards. He was hard against her, and his lips were wet-- wet with her. She’d marked him, and he kissed her. She could taste herself on him, and she found herself almost not caring that he--

No, _she_ was the lioness, _she_ was the conqueror, she would be the Lady of the Westerlands. She broke away near-breathless, spinning again. “ _Down_ ,” she breathed, and Eddard sat himself on the bed again, and Cersei was wet, and by all the mines and hells, she wanted him inside her. She straddled him once more, settling herself down on him, and the moan that left his mouth was a filthier sound than she thought Eddard Stark could make. She rocked herself back and forth as he thrust upward, and Eddard’s hands scrambled against her chest, pinching and pressing, the added pressure nearly enough to have her forget his face again had she not been looking down.

He spent himself before she was ready, just an untrained boy, and Cersei readied herself for disappointment, readied herself for fury as he tugged himself out. The fury lowered as he kissed downwards, and Cersei smiled as his tongue curled around a particularly sensitive part of her, her hips canting forward. Being wed to Eddard Stark should not be so difficult if he continued to be as considerate to her. She would warm him to the Rock, and he would warm to her. Her peak was building, and Cersei would mark her territory. Eddard Stark was _hers_.

**Author's Note:**

> smut really isn't my best, especially het smut, but i tried my best!


End file.
